


not again will i turn to run away

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It, Post S8E5, but he deserves another chance, jaime is a suicidal piece of shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: And Jaime prays, between the dust and the bricks falling from the burning sky above, embracing his sister as the only thing he has left on his last breaths, that he will never have to open his eyes again.





	not again will i turn to run away

**Author's Note:**

> bitch can outlive a fucking zombie apocalypse a bit of fuckin rubble ain't doing shit to him. what the fuck

 

 

And Jaime prays, between the dust and the bricks falling from the burning sky above, embracing his sister as the only thing he has left on his last breaths, that he will never have to open his eyes again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jaime is convinced he's dead when his sight darkens, his ears hearing no more than a haunting nothing. He's never feared death, not when he's been nearing it so many times ever since he swore an oath to a king. Perhaps a final death is the one thing he wants—the one thing he had allowed himself to selfishly wish for, to the gods he was never sure he ever believed in.

 

Voices—unintelligible, whispering in his ear, like the singing of a lullaby. Maybe this is how death feels like, Jaime thinks, his sight whitening in a blinding light. Like the comforting crib in which he lay as a baby—silent, a wonderful peace the world never wanted to gift him, not when he was alive.

 

_"...elp!"_

 

Then something takes shape-- he's not sure what or where or how but there's _something_ , awakening deep on his conscience and dragging him back. The rustle of stone scratching at the edge of his ear is so, so uncanny; it's not the comfort of death, nor the chaos of life—an in-between all too strange, he's not able to name it.

 

"Help me get him out of there, now!"

 

It's sudden, the way he's being dragged back to life. Gripping his arm fiercely, and it's almost like a plea—crying, begging for him to _stay_ , making him regret as he inevitably walks to the other side-- reminding him of the guilt that not even in fucking death would leave him alone.

 

But it comes clear on his mind, when the pain finally spreads through his body and breathing through the rubble becomes a problem again. His conscience falls into place.

 

He's not dead, not yet.

 

_"Help!"_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's... cold.

 

It's strange, to feel his face sting once again at the frozen air, to have the northern wind crash against his ears like a deafening wave. Perhaps because the last thing he remembers consciously feeling is the infernal heat down the crypts and the bricks falling on him as everything broke down. Soon, it's not just the damned cold slowly dragging his conscience back, but the nauseating sensation of water running beneath him, cradling him on the wood in which he lays uncomfortably, and he suddenly remembers just how _shitty_  it is to be alive.

 

_Why is he?_

 

And he doesn't want to open his eyes, because if he did he'd realize that he really is alive-- that not even with a literal building collapsing before him would he ever be a able to free himself from his curse of a life, that the gods have once again forsaken his one wish for some reason-- not even now is he able to tell what that fucking is.

 

But he opens his eyes, and a blurred moon and stars stare down at him, with a beauty all too bright for his old, tired eyes.

 

He's tired. Jaime blinks, trying to get used to the burden of living once more. He's so, so tired.

 

His neck slowly turns to the side—the first spark of pain running through his body wakes him up a bit more, and all of the sudden all of his limbs feel as if though fleshly molten wax had spilled over them-- his eyelids close in stiffened pain, blinking them open ever so slightly to see the fire of an oil lamp, eyes throbbing at the sudden light that enters them once he's opened them. He's awake, he's alive, and maybe this is his punishment for being such a hateful man.

 

Jaime makes an effort to turn his neck to the other side, eyes pressed closed at the throbbing pain at the nape of his neck—he's stiff all over, and he starts to wonder how long has he been there, laying unconscious on a damned boat in charge of someone, unfortunate enough to travel the kingslayer somewhere—who knows where. Perhaps he's banished, maybe he'll wake up again on an eastern beach, alone and disoriented. Maybe he won't plan on coming back, maybe he'll let Westeros remember him as the oathbreaker, a man with shit for honor. This is the punishment he'll take, for being such a hateful man...

 

But when he opens his eyes once more, and all too well discerns the broad figure of a certain woman—her hair all over the place and just the slightest bit of her blue eyes, his heart stops, his stomach clenches at the realization, and Jaime knows his punishment is much, much worse.

 

He's not sure where does that sudden strength come from, forcing his wounded arms to try and get him up, nor why he gets the sudden impulse to get words out of his throat, to look at her and tell her the thousands of things he has yet to say. "Brienne--"

 

Though his voice is dry and it chokes him—catching him off guard, breathless, and in what seems like the fragment of a second, he's coughing violently onto the wooden boat. He really is an idiot, Jaime thinks, as strong arms grasp his shoulder and push his chest back to where he laid, his coughing fit dying down to a few desperate gasps for air. "Don't move," she commands—the sea surrounding the boat splashes and echoes in his ears, and Jaime dares see her one more time. She looks so tired, so worn down by the cold and restless nights, yet she keeps such a pure and genuine concern on her eyes looking down at him-- how can he look at her in the eye after all the shit he's put her through?

 

She still wears that wrinkle between her eyebrows, still bears worry in her sapphires and he can't stand it, he can't stand it-- not until she's the first to look away; blinking, looking to the ground and finally starting down the water, and only then does he allow himself to stare away from her. _Fuck_ , he wasn't prepared for this at all—he did not plan to see her again, to come face to face with what he left behind in favor of a death he believed he deserved. Is he even in the position to talk to her? To ask forgiveness for something he knows scarred her for life?

 

He knows he's not. He knows he won't ever earn her forgiveness, and perhaps this too, was his punishment—living to face the consequences of his mistakes and the people he hurt for his selfish beliefs.

 

Yet he decides to do it-- maybe this is what the son of a bitch destiny wants from him, keeping him alive even at the end of the world; to own up—to what he did, what he's doing and what he'll do. He looks to the moon above them, like it were the raven that would make his words reach to Brienne.

 

"...I'm sorry."

 

It's barely audible between the silence of the night and the stillness of the waves, and as he looks down to her again, he's sure she heard him. The subtle way in which she flinches on her seat tells him all he'd ever need to know. She doesn't respond however-- she moves her gaze further away from him, hiding the sight of her blue eyes and ripping away the trust she had once given him. This is all his doing, Jaime thinks. This is what he deserves.

 

But the silence is unbearable, and though there are too many questions Jaime now just realizes he has, he's not even sure if he _should_  ask. His memories are blurred, yet with the little conviction he has left, he's able to put the pieces together and, with one thing standing above the others, he looks back at Brienne to make sure of it.

 

"You pulled me out of there."

 

"I did," she says, matter-of-factly, yet she can't quite meet his eye.

 

"Why?" The question comes out in such a hateful tone. _Why_ \-- Why is he not dead? Why him and not Cersei? Why _you_? Jaime thinks, thoughts flooding him all at once, and it's suddenly all too much to process. He breathes, then looks up at the stars. "I was a dead man already."

 

"Spout one more nonsense and I'll throw you into the sea."

 

Her tone is so familiarly aggressive, Jaime feels that need to tease her. "You wouldn't."

 

"I'd be doing you a favor, Jaime Lannister," her voice doesn't tremble, and the truth in her words makes him shut his mouth closed, his heart pounding in regret. "That's what you've always wanted, to die like a bloody coward."

 

His eyes meets hers once again, and although Brienne seems to regret her words, averting her gaze once more, he finds no words in his throat to tell her otherwise. It's true, Jaime thinks, not happy to acknowledge it, and yet he's still alive-- it's almost as if he was chained to an issue unresolved, and the gods would not let him die until he did. Maybe...

 

"Do you want to live?" Her voice is softer, yet her words weight the same. _Does he_?

 

And Brienne knows—knows the damned martyrdom that is his existence, knows how unfair he's been to the world and how unfair the world is to him. She's the one who should be most angry with him, she's the one he hurt the worst and yet-- and yet she still came running after him, to _save_  him, to bring him back to life yet again. And Jaime doesn't deserve her, he doesn't deserve that opportunity, but... "I..."

 

"I'm giving you a choice, Ser Jaime."

 

And even though his selfish wishes insist on ignoring any reason, any opportunity the world has given him to continue his sinful existence, he can't ignore the words—what's there in front of him. Brienne wants him alive-- and he can't explain himself why after giving her all the reason for her to hate him, to pass on his memory as an iredeemable, vile human being but she's so, so stubborn. She keeps believing in him, she still wholeheartedly believes he's a good man-- and even if he wholeheartedly believes he does not deserve it, the world had given him another chance; to live with honor—to live as the man she trusts he is.

 

And this time... This time, he won't run away.

 

"...I want to," his throat manages to pull out, and maybe that's just enough for Brienne, blue eyes staring back at him in disbelief. His fingers reach out to hers, entwining them together—to give her all the reassurance that _this_  is what he wants to do. "I want to live."

 

Brienne does not move her gaze away for a second, and he swears he sees the glossy crystal form in her eyes as she nods, her fingers squeezing his. He sighs, feeling truly _alive_ \-- and he promises himself, for the first time after a thousand broken oaths and knightly promises, that, for Brienne, he'll finally do it right this time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> jaime still has the biggest fucking plot armor in this show. fuck d&d


End file.
